The gunshot rang through the forest, and Prongs dropped to the ground.

Harry, barely seven-years-old at the time, screamed as the stag impacted the ground next to him.

"Cripes, Larry, there's a kid there!" said a rough voice. A hunter, his rifle still smoking came into view, another hunter besides him.

"Kid, what are you doing out here in the woods alone? Where are your parents?"

Harry had been taught not to talk to strangers, but he started blubbering. He collapsed over the deer, clutching Prong's head. His father lifted his head and met his eyes, one last time.

"Sorry, kid," said one of the hunters. "But spoils are spoils. Move, so we can put the creature out of its misery."

Harry didn't want to let go, but the hunters dragged him away.

"Jesus, Hank, he's just a kid," the hunter Larry said. "Cover his eyes."

Hank covered Harry's eyes, but Harry heard all too well as the gunshot ripped through Prongs, ending his life.

"Congrats on your first kill, Larry," Hank said. "Now, as we must—"

Harry watched in horror as Hank tore his father's still beating heart from his body and gave it to Larry, who took a bite of it reverently. Hank then took the next bite.

It was all too much for Harry, and he passed out.

Harry stared at the Hogwarts dinner table and dug into his vegetables.

His mother had died tragically some time after James had gone, going on a mad crusade to blow up factory farms. Harry knew he had to honor her memory as well as his father's now.

He stared at the other students who had been sorted into Slytherin. Draco Malfoy, biting into a sausage link. Blaise Zabini, eating blood pudding. Crabbe and Goyle, each biting into turkey legs. Theo Nott, having a slice of chicken. Pansy Parkinson, chowing down on some venison. Daphne Greengrass, daintily slicing up some sausages. Tracey Davis, impaling veal upon her fork.

He knew the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws were no better. He could see the Weasleys all devouring meat like they were too poor to have much at home.

And in him burned hate.

"Will you join me, Harry Potter?" said Voldemort from the back of Quirrell's head.

Harry thought back to the few times he'd watched Quirrell eat. The man had a strict vegetarian diet, which was probably to ward off vampires.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Really?" Voldemort said. "Really?!"

"It's like you said," Harry said. "There is only power… and those who are too weak to seek it. Here's the Stone."

"Excellent," Voldemort said. "I shall return to the shadows, and you shall appear in the light. If you shall be my agent in Hogwarts, know of Slytherin's Basilisk."

"Why are you doing this, Potter?" Draco Malfoy squeaked, terror in his voice, as the basilisk appeared, eyes closed, in the Slytherin Common Room. "Aren't you the heir? Shouldn't you want to purge mudbloods?"

"Enemies of the heir, beware," Harry said, his voice monotone. "Humans pretend that they're not a part of the food chain, and then they act like the apex predator. The truth is, there's always a bigger fish."

No one was a match for the Basilisk. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw all fell and died to the gaze. The Professors died before they realized anything was wrong. Hogwarts was left desolate.

"I find myself concerned by your actions," Voldemort said, in Malfoy manor. "Wizarding children are the lifeblood of our community, and you have killed them all. And when I am concerned, I have a few select solutions."

Harry didn't care. Voldemort was eating steak.


Voldemort was fast, but Harry was faster. "Avadakedavra," Harry said, hitting Voldemort under the table. The Dark Lord died, surprise upon his face. Lucius Malfoy was a quick kill as well, as it was best to clean up any loose ends, and the man was also a meat-eater and hunter.

"Hmm, yes, indeed, that is concerning," Cornelius Fudge said. "Malfoy, dead in his own home? This must be the work of the Order of the Phoenix."

"How?" said a ministry grunt. "Dumbledore's dead."

"That's also concerning," said Fudge.

"By the way, how do you like your steaks?" the grunt said.

"Well-done," said Fudge. "Why is that relevant?"

"Because it means you're a filthy meat eater," said the grunt, who had been Harry the whole time. "Bombarda Maxima."

The Ministry of Magic exploded. Everyone in it died, and a ton of people nearby as well. Harry didn't care, because they were all meat eaters, probably, and even if they weren't, there was no ethical consumption under capitalism.

"Yes, this here's my cattle ranch," said the farmer.

"That's nice. Avada Kedavra," said Harry. The farmer slumped over, dead.

Harry went to the edges of the ranch, and broke down the fences. "Be free, creatures of the field! You are free now! No more shall man have tyrannical dominion over you!"

The cows mooed. Most of them didn't react. A few bent down to eat more grass.

Harry grimaced. No matter. It was but a small impediment. Soon, animal kind would be free from the terror of their inevitable consumption by man.

"I've even sampled some of your indigenous cuisine - your hamburgers, quite tasty, sort of a meat sandwich," said the world leader in his speech.

Harry had heard enough. "Avada Kedavra," he said, standing up, shooting a beam of light. The world leader slumped over, dead, and there were instantly tons of Secret Service guns pointed at him.

"Magic is real," Harry said, looking straight into a camera. "Witches are real. We worship the Mother Earth, who you have defiled with your industry and your carnivorism. Now, the reckoning has come. Burn, like the barbeques you so love. Fiendfyre."

The fall of man was as short as it was tragic. Every time a country tried to reach out to its magical counterparts to figure out what was going on, Harry would appear and assassinate both sides, declaring his vendetta against carnivorism. Soon, with all information obscured by his actions, countries were reduced to nuking their own capitols to eliminate their Ministries of Magic, and when that didn't work, in the cases of America, every major metropolitan center.

Harry looked upon his works, almighty, and prevailed.

Harry cut off his finger, dropping it into the cauldron. Voldemort returned.

"What have you done?" Voldemort seethed, in a rage.

"I made them pay," Harry said. "I'll give you one chance. How do you like your steaks?"

"Why is that at all important? I don't need steak to live," Voldemort said.

Harry relaxed. "Then you can live, for now."

After a short conversation, Voldemort seemed to be in disbelief.

"You killed them all? I'm impressed. Horrified, but impressed, Harry Potter. All because you wished to end meat eating?"

"We are creatures of magic and of the earth," Harry said. "Our kind become animals at a whim. Why should any human have the right to kill and eat other creatures that might be as wise as they are?"

"Such sentimental comments, coming from the man who killed most of humanity," Voldmort lamented. "I almost wish you hadn't brought me back, that I might return in a thousand years when humanity swarms upon the world once again. What's the point of ruling a husk?"

"I can kill you again," Harry said.

"It's quite alright," Voldemort said. "Do you have any objection to the consumption of human flesh?"

"No," Harry said, surprising himself, but he supposed it made sense. "I fight for the underdog, not for the predators who almost ruined the planet."

"Then I shall subsist perfectly fine off of a vegan diet," Voldemort said, "and when I desire meat, I shall hunt the most dangerous game."

Harry had flashbacks. There was one more thing he had to do. "You can have the eastern hemisphere, and Britain," he said, "so long as you let animals have free reign."

"And you shall have the rest of the world? Agreed."

"A deal's a deal. By the way, the basilisk misses you."

Voldemort bowed his head. "You have humbled me, Harry Potter. Good luck."

Larry and Hank the hunters had no idea what the fuck was going on, but they were pretty sure it was the end of the world. The phone lines were all down, and the last internet news they could find was that militant vegans had taken over the world. They were terrified Antica (anti-carnivore) was going to find them, and take their guns. All of their friends were dead.

Their door was blown in.

"Oh god what do you want!" Larry shouted. "Who are you! We'll give you anything!"

"Stupefy," came the voice. Larry stiffened up, and so did Hank.

"This is what you get," said a young man with dark hair and emerald eyes. He took out a knife.

"Corpus viviens," he said. "I want you to feel this."

He stabbed Larry in the chest and carved out his heart. Then, not breaking his gaze from Larry's terrified eyes, he took a bite, and another, until he had consumed the heart whole. Larry was kept alive somehow, through some strange and terrible magic.

The young man did the same to Hank.

As if they were both deer.

"Do you remember?" the young man said. "Do you remember what you did?"

Larry and Hank stared at him in terror.

"You're the little boy," Larry gurgled at last.

"Yes," said the man. "This is what you did. I want you to die, knowing that. You caused all of this. You caused the fall of man. Finite Incantatum."

And so they died.

Harry looked at them, just meat and bone on the ground now, blood leaking onto a wooden floor. They were gone, and the world would be a place with much less suffering now. No one would suffer as he had.

But it didn't bring his father back.